


They Will Come When We Call

by kissontheneck



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Emptiness, Gen, Justice, Reflection, Revolution, Social Justice, at a loss, disbelief, fraternité, how did this happen, liberté, égalité
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8521423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissontheneck/pseuds/kissontheneck
Summary: Marius revisits the Musain after the fall of the barricade.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I must acknowledge my steadfast beta, jehane18, who I think doesn’t get enough credit from me. She does more than correct my spelling and rein in my use of "reign" and how often I misuse it; she also takes me to task on history, mise en scene, and too much crying. If it weren’t for her, I’m not sure I’d have improved as much as I have in my days around this place. Thank you. <3

 ~*~

_There's a grief that can't be spoken_

_There's a pain goes on and on_

_~*~_

Marius sat in abject sorrow, straining to see the Musain as it once had been. His eyes had grown weary, attempting to fill in the holes where chairs and tables once stood. He felt as if his heart had vanished, a hollow emptiness in its place.

This wasn’t supposed to have happened this way. They said the moral arc bent ever more towards justice; who knew it would break so unexpectedly.

Sunlight streamed through the window, casting elongated squares of light on the dusty, wooden floor. A man’s footprints led from one end of the room to the other and back again, as if the man had been pacing. It had been Enjolras who last spoke at the window to the assembled Amis that final, fatal night.

Enjolras had said they would come. LaMarque's funeral had roused a considerable number, and Enjolras had said they would come. The chairs and tables of the Musain had gone through those same windows, piling higher and higher as the darkness slowly crept over the cobblestone street, and still Enjolras had said they would come. The people would come and fight and a new day would dawn.

Instead, a dark shadow found its home in Marius’ chest, even as the sun shone on him now.

In his mind’s eye, he could envision the stairwell, see himself running up it and down it, dodging Courfeyrac and Joly, clinging to the sleeves of Grantaire and Feuilly. Before that memory evaporated into the ether, he saw Enjolras, his expression contorted as if taken by surprise.

The people weren’t coming, and he knew it.

So Death came for them that day, each and every one. Death at the hands of those who thrived on greed and power; cowards who feared change. Death came because the people did not.

This thought turned Marius’ stomach, and he closed his eyes to fight the impending flood of tears.

This room in the Musain, the warm, safe place where the Amis spoke of revolution, huddled around maps of their beloved Paris, teased one another so relentlessly and playfully -- this space now felt so cold, so empty, with no chairs and only one table.

“They will come when we call,” Enjolras had said.

But the people had failed them.

~*~


End file.
